Our gutters need clearing and I’m not just saying that because some dodgy bloke has chucked a tennis ball in our guttering, and has knocked on the door a fortnight later offering to clear our gutters for a bargain basement £1,000.
My eyes tell me they need sorting because we have both thistle and dandelion growing there. They must be growing in something and I’m guessing that something is leaf mould.
It’s on my list of things to sort this weekend, which presents me with a problem. My husband, being chivalrous and wanting to hang on to a mother for his children, doesn’t want me shinning up a ladder. Apparently it’s a bit high and a bit dangerous. And yes I did know that and I’m no stranger to danger and heights. We’re not best friends you understand, especially Heights, who has a tendency to make me go weak at the knees, in a wobbly way.
But all of this leaves me (no pun intended) stuck with something on a to do list and an inability to sort it myself. My options are
- wait for Dave to sort it
- wait for Monday and book someone to sort it.
The thing is, that neither of these is a guaranteed fix for the weekend, unless I nag. I don’t really like nagging. It’s a technique of last resort and I’d rather shin up a ladder myself wearing a pair of Marigolds.
But I am out of options. Unless I defy my husband. But then I’d need his help carrying the ladder. And that would seem like I’m dropping a really big hint. Which is a bit like nagging. …
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